


Closer

by coreopsis



Series: Lost Horizons [17]
Category: Hard Core Logo (1996)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-11-16
Updated: 2000-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-17 18:58:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coreopsis/pseuds/coreopsis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joe, Billy, and the music from an outside perspective.  (Well, that's what it started out to be anyway.)  Sequel to Contrary, although this takes place in the middle of that story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closer

**Author's Note:**

> This is something of a songfic, so not only are the characters of Billy, Joe, Pipe, and John not mine, most of the lines from songs aren't either. There's a couple I made up to suit my purposes, because there are only 8 "Hard Core Logo" songs to choose from, if you count Son of a Bitch to the Core but not Blue Tattoo (which I think was just a concert cover of Bucky's song). I'm going to consider Sonic Reducer a cover that they actually recorded. I shouldn't have to say this, but all opinions are that of the character not the author. But just the same, abject apologies to any fans of the drummer on the CD, who is a fine and talented musician, I'm sure.

Taylor caught the tape that came flying at him and said an automatic, "Thank you."

"Don't." One flat word, as Billy lit another cigarette and squinted through the smoke. "Just pay attention when you listen."

As Taylor shut the door firmly behind him, he wondered if Billy knew how much he'd given away when he'd said, 'I don't want to hear *him*.' Maybe it was intentional, or maybe it was an accident, or maybe it was both. Billy was certainly capable of any of the three.

Although he hardly ever used it anymore, his old Walkman was in his suitcase. He had to take the headphones and batteries from his MP3 player, but finally he was ready to slip the tape in and push play.

The opening guitar riff was instantly recognizable as Billy's work. The bass came in as a nice solid presence connecting the electric with the percussion. The crappy percussion, he realized after a moment. On the first track, the drummer sounded like he was having a seizure with a drumstick in his hand. So Taylor did his best to ignore the drums altogether--not easy for a guy who'd spent his entire life paying special attention to just that, but eventually the voice took center stage.

That voice... The voice of the great and mysterious Joe Dick. The man that Billy would only talk about in the most guarded of terms, and he always seemed to regret it afterwards. Taylor couldn't quite figure out whether it was because Billy still loved Joe that much or because he hated him that much. Whichever, it must still hurt like a son of a bitch to put that bruised look in Billy's eyes.

*...Ya rotten Cinderella when I'm lookin' at you, hey little girl, don't you mess with me...*

Taylor shook his head and looked at the case to double-check the name. "One Foot in the Gutter" had to be one of the stupidest songs he'd ever heard. Maybe the guys were completely trashed when they wrote it and were too embarrassed to admit that it sucked once they sobered up. *Billy* for sure was capable of better than this. Impatient to continue, he fast-forwarded a little bit.

The next song was the one Billy had just played for him, and Taylor stood up and started pacing. This was not a song to listen to sitting down. He tried to listen objectively and pick it apart as he would any other piece of music, but his visceral response wouldn't let him. He instantly loved this one.

*...Pour yourself another quart. Who the hell you think you are...*

Rewinding to listen again, he figured it must be because he'd wanted to ask that question plenty of times in his teen years--and this definitely sounded like teenage anger to him. Kinda with a 'please love me daddy' undertone that was disturbing as hell because it was so unexpected. Or maybe his own issues were intruding. Okay, no more introspection, because this is about Billy, right? Right. So on to the next track...

*...Just get outta my face, I'm fuckin' through with you...*

On the surface this seemed like a slightly better than average break up song, but the anger--or pain-- was so deep that Joe's voice cracked in places, whereas it had been consistently strong all the way through the rest. Taylor wondered what had actually been going on when he wrote and sang this song. He instinctively felt that Billy--assuming he even knew the whole story himself-- wouldn't tell him if he asked.

*...Ya gotta give me just enough this time, then I promise to get myself clean...*

Now didn't that sound familiar? Selfish junkies making promises left and right that they had no intention of keeping. That was unfair...maybe. But he didn't care. The utter self-involvement of addiction was what had put him in Billy's guestroom in the first place. On some level he still cared about Paul and wanted to be his friend, but Paul couldn't get his head out of his fucking nose long enough to see that. Taylor remembered the first time they'd met. The guy had been so California-surfer-boy handsome that it'd been no surprise to learn he was an actor. He'd been quick-witted and funny, and Taylor had wanted him. And he'd gotten him.

But now... that Paul was nothing but a nice memory, bearing little resemblance to the thin, twitchy paranoid man that Taylor had fought with recently. The man could barely remember his phone number, much less a script. Taylor could see that Paul's disregard for any of the practical matters of life was going to get him in trouble, but all Taylor could do was save himself by getting out. It had taken Taylor much too long to learn that he couldn't force someone to accept help if he didn't want it.

He wondered if Billy had gone through that with Joe, or if someone else had gone through it with Billy and his drinking. And he wondered if Billy would tell him if he asked. Not likely. Taylor had the feeling that any answers he would get were supposed to be found in these songs.

*...I'm on the edge, you're on the ledge, who's gonna jump, who's gonna push...*

Oh, now that one was almost too obvious, if one was in a suspicious frame of mind. When Billy left, was he pushed or did he jump? Was there a difference? In the two years that Taylor had known him, Billy had never appeared to do anything he sincerely did not want to do. Certain things he might not enjoy as much as other things, but if he didn't want to do something, he'd say so. He'd say 'no' quietly and persuasively, and then he simply would not do it. End of story.

But what was Billy like ten years ago? Was he submissive to Joe, accepting whatever he was told to do? Or did he fight tooth and nail to get his own way? Taylor realized he might have it all wrong-- What if Billy and Joe were actually equals, making unanimous decisions, working together closely and easily? It was possible, he conceded, but not very likely given the few stories Taylor had heard about Billy's old band.

Whether the stories were true or not, such constant conflict must have been a rough way to live--an opinion that Taylor would die before giving to Billy. Expressing any kind of sympathy would insure that Billy never spoke to him again, much less let Taylor touch him. And that's what it amounted to between them, Billy *allowing* Taylor...even when he was topping or making the first move, it was sex on his sufferance.

For a moment, Taylor had to wonder just how pathetic he actually was to be *happy* with whatever Billy chose to give him. No, he couldn't think like that. He had to enjoy his time with Billy because there was no way it was going to last very long. If he accepted that now, it wouldn't hurt so much later. Taylor was realistic enough to suspect that he might never be able to give Billy whatever it was he was looking for, especially if it was something that he'd had and lost. Something dead and buried?

The tape clicked off and Taylor realized that he hadn't paid any attention to the last song. Deciding that a break would do him good, he took the headphones off and rubbed his ears. He patted his pockets and then rummaged through his bags until he found a pack of cigarettes. He lit one using a book of nightclub matches that lay in the plastic ashtray on the nightstand. He had to shake his head at the convenience of their presence. All through the apartment, Billy's decor ran to functional minimalism, as if he'd just moved in and could move out again any day. This room contained a simple wooden double bed, matching nightstand, and a wooden straight chair that looked like it was an extra from the dining set in the nook off the kitchen. The walls were bare, and the nightstand held nothing but the ashtray, not even a lamp. The closet contained two empty pasteboard boxes, a handful of wire hangers, and Taylor's suitcases, which he hadn't bothered to unpack since he wouldn't be staying long.

After he finished his cigarette, flipped the tape over, and put the headphones back on, Taylor opened the blinds and stared out at the darkening sky. He was actually glad to be facing east instead of west because the music that came pumping into his ears was not sunset music. It wasn't a sunny day on the beach music either. In fact, it sounded vaguely out of place for everything that LA was, except for some of the darker corners that he'd lived in when he first got to town. Maybe that was part of the attraction for him, its 'otherness'.

*...Don't need no pretty face, don't need no human race...*

Ahh, Dead Boys. Classic punk. He smiled to himself as he realized how shocked Billy would be to know he recognized this one. Billy thought they were all completely ignorant--and it amused Taylor to play into that sometimes just to irritate Billy--he had done a little research when he started noticing that Billy had something special going on, something beyond physical attractiveness although he had that in spades too. Billy was quite different from Taylor's usual type, older for one thing, quieter, more introspective, with a masculine fragility that made you want to push him and protect him at the same time. But for all that, Taylor had been drawn to him just the same, and he was afraid to analyze why, afraid to dispel whatever weird magic that was at work.

Joe Dick's snarling, growling voice was right up Taylor's alley. At the heart of it, it wasn't so different from the metal and older grunge bands that he usually listened to. He stopped the tape in the middle of the song, so he could rewind and listen to that yell again. A little shiver went through him, and he had to listen to the whole song again. On the second pass, he found himself headbanging and singing along--quietly so as not to bother Billy.

After the hard rocking beauty of "Sonic Reducer", he was disappointed when the next song turned out to be an unintelligible mess. Another of those 'we're real drunk so it sounds good to us' kinda things. He fast forwarded nearly to the end and was unsurprised to find that it didn't improve any. But the song after that.... He had another instant favorite on his hands--or more accurately, in his ears.

"...Plug me into your block heater, my mind's gonna take itself for a walk..."

Even the drums sounded good on this one. Billy's guitar was genius, the bass was magical, and Joe...Joe's voice was pure sex. This was music that spoke to the most primitive part of Taylor, something down in his gut...or lower. In short, this was music to fuck by and his body was reacting in a predictable manner. He wondered for a moment if he could get away with going next door and dragging Billy down and fucking him through the floor.

Whatever good sense he still retained said that would be profoundly stupid, so he just rewound the tape and laid the player on the nightstand while he pulled his pants down and perched on the edge of the bed. He started the song again and jerked his cock in time to the music, mentally changing the gender to suit his preference.

*...He's been so good to me, he's always there throughout the day..."

Oh yeah, that was it. He pictured Billy's mouth on his cock--a rare and precious sight to be sure, but it was Joe's voice that was really getting him off. It stroked him from the inside as effectively as his own hand stroked him from the outside. He paused to catch his breath as the tune finished, but then licked his hand and started again harder and faster with the next song--something about bullets and dying, but he was beyond paying close attention at that point. The music just rolled over him as he rode his hand and fantasies of both Billy and Joe to a crashing orgasm.

Jerking off the earphones with his clean hand, he looked around the room but of course, there was no convenient box of Kleenex lying around. Since he hated the taste of his own come, he wasn't about to lick his sticky hand clean. So cursing himself for ignoring his father's advice of always carrying a clean handkerchief, he pulled his pants up and walked over to carefully open the door. He crossed the hall to the bathroom, praying hard that Billy wouldn't choose this exact moment to come out of his room, and he shut the door quietly behind him with a relieved sigh.

As he washed his hands, he decided to keep the tape unless Billy specifically asked for it back--just until he could get his own copy or track down some CD's or something. He would have to listen to the music again and again if he wanted to learn more about Billy. Of course, there was also the lure of listening to Joe sing, which he'd have to do in private because of the pain it apparently caused Billy to hear his voice. He shook his head at his own reflection, and thought again what a rough way to live.

Taylor made sure his clothes were as clean as they had been before, and then decided snack foods and mindless television were calling his name.

 

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to Barb, Lori, and Nicole for excellent beta. They totally and utterly rock.


End file.
